Frank is a broad-shouldered, solidly built man with close-cropped brown hair and a scholar’s habit of dressing for comfort rather than display. His chain shirt sits beneath a plain traveling coat, and a narrow notebook is tucked into his belt beside his weapon. When he enters a room, his gaze moves first to doors, windows, and the hands of whoever is speaking. He unconsciously squares the edges of any paper placed before him.

Frank is patient, observant, and more comfortable asking precise questions than making small talk. He takes people seriously even when he distrusts their claims, and he rarely raises his voice. In danger, his manner becomes brisk and practical.

Frank grew up in a busy town where his family kept records for merchants, courts, and anyone else willing to pay for careful copying. He learned early that a clean ledger could settle a dispute more reliably than a loud argument. His curiosity took him from local archives to distant libraries, where he traded errands and repairs for access to old histories. He became especially interested in how armies moved, how treaties failed, and what ordinary people did when official accounts left them out. When a caravan carrying rare manuscripts was attacked on the road, Frank helped the survivors organize a defense and get the books to safety. He discovered that the discipline he had practiced at a desk served just as well under pressure: watch the exits, keep people moving, and do the next necessary thing. He took up arms afterward, not out of love for battle, but because knowledge seemed worth protecting. Now he travels with a scholar’s notes and a fighter’s readiness, hoping to learn what happened to the missing pages from the caravan’s most important book.